Guilty
by SeventhTatar
Summary: Brad and Randy are home alone and having fun but when something goes wrong one of them may be fighting for his life. completed.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own zilch.

**Summery:** Brad and Randy are home alone and having fun but when something goes wrong one of them may be fighting for his life. Probably a two-entry story. I don't know a lot about asthma, so if I get something wrong, tell me and I will fix it. I don't have a beta right now.

**Rating:** PG (K)

**Ages:: **Brad-12

Randy-11

Mark-9

**By**: momiji'sunusedhalo

Paper Clip, Card and Sock

"Boys, I'm going to the grocery store! Do you want anything special?" Jill Taylor called up the stairs to her boys. Tim was at work and wouldn't be home for a few hours; Jill wanted to get the shopping done before she would have to start dinner. Luckily she thought that Randy and Brad were old enough to stay home alone for a little while. She didn't need all of them to go out together anymore.

"Mark, I want you to come with me, so come down, okay?"

He came running down the stairs with a smile on his face, he loved doing things with Tim and Jill. Mark grabbed his jacket and pulled it on, it was a little big, seeing as it used to be Brad's. He didn't mind too much, a lot of what he had were hand me downs.

"Brad! Randy! We'll be back around five thirty, okay? Don't kill each other, um, the emergency numbers are on the refrigerator," She had no idea if they were even listening but she had to try.

"We'll be fine!" They chorused from upstairs.

"Fine…" she muttered "Goodbye!"

"Bye!" Randy and Brad yelled.

Upstairs, they heard the front door close. Randy hopped off his bed and stood behind Brad who was on the computer.

"Do you mind?" Brad said, turning to look at his little brother.

"Not at all, but thanks for asking," Randy retorted pleasantly.

"Well I do, so bug off, okay?"

Randy retreated to his bed, forming a plan. His brother was always just sitting and staring at the computer screen, so boring. It was the weekend and that was the time to goof off and have fun. He missed that.

Randy looked around and smirked. There was a perfectly good paper clip sitting innocently near his foot. The young boy picked it up and stared at his brother for a moment, then gave it a little toss and had it bounce right off his head. Brad spun around and gave Randy a pretty evil glare. The latter was lying on Brad's bed looking innocent.

"What?"

Brad huffed and went back to his computer, until a playing card slapped against his neck.

"Quit it!" he yelled, looking at Randy. Who was, quite unconvincingly 'reading' a comic book.

Grumbling, he once again went back to the screen. Randy carefully reached down and slowly peeled off his sock, they were perfect projectiles. Trying not to make a sound, he rolled it up and took aim…

Smack!

It hit Brad right in the ear.

Brad stood up and turned around, looking quite mad.

"You're dead midget!" He lunged at Randy but Randy flung himself off of the bed and landed on the floor. With a yell, he ran to the door and thundered down the stairs, jumping the last three. But Brad was right on his heels. "I'm going to kill you!"

"But that's what mom said you couldn't do! Jeeze!" He cried as something whizzed past his shoulder.

"Too bad Mom isn't here," Brad said, trapping Randy on one side of the couch. "And you're cornered," He jumped the back of the couch, catching Randy by surprise and managing to grab him by one of his overall straps. As Brad fell, he took Randy down with him. Randy gave a yelp as he hit the floor, but Brad's elbow smacked the floor and he loosened his grip allowing Randy to scramble to his feet.

He took off around the table and heard Brad getting up too. They zigzagged around the house until Brad finally got in his way and they fell to the ground wrestling. Randy realized after a minute that Brad was laughing and figured he probably wasn't going to die. They rolled around having fun play fighting.

Brad was sitting on Randy's stomach with his little brother struggling underneath, both laughing and gasping for breath. Randy closed his eyes for a moment and felt Brad punch him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him.

But, no that wasn't right. Brad was getting off of him. But he couldn't breath!

"That was fun," Brad was saying, standing over Randy, and extending a hand for him to get up. Randy didn't take it. Brad looked down at his little brother; Randy's face was turning from red to a pale, grayish color. He was tugging at the neck of his shirt like it was trying to strangle him.

"Wha…" Brad knelt next to him. Randy rolled on his side and stared at Brad, his eyes confused and begging him to help. He was gasping frantically for air that would not come.

Brad's mind registered one thing. _Asthma._

"_Brad, Mark, listen to me. Randy has asthma, so don't let him over-exert himself, alright?"_

Brad became very frightened. He had no idea what to do! Randy couldn't breath, he couldn't carry him or drive him anywhere and no one was home. An idea came to mind.

"Randy! Randy listen, will your inhaler help?" He cried, feeling helpless.

Randy didn't respond, but was starting to shut his eyes tightly when he attempted to take a breath.

Brad ran up the stairs faster than he could have imagined and ransacked their room for about fifteen seconds until he found it under a book on the dresser. He remembered the doctor saying that it was only precautionary, and he hoped it would save Randy's life. Half falling down the stairs, he got to him, a cold sweat breaking out on his face. Randy grabbed the inhaler and took a rattling breath with it.

It wasn't enough, it was supposed to prevent an attack but not stop one.

Panic took over both of them.

Brad jumped to his feet and flew to the yard side door with only one thought in his head. Wilson.

"Wilson! Wilson! You have to help, it's an emergency!" He banged on the fence frantically.

Almost immediately Wilson's head appeared at the top of the fence.

"What's the matter little neighbor?"

"It's Randy! He's having an asthma attack! He can't breath and no one's home-" He yelled almost in tears.

Wilson had disappeared from the fence and was hurrying into the yard and towards Brad.

"I tried, but I can't do anything!" Brad cried as they went quickly to Randy, still lying on the floor.

"How long has it been?" Wilson helped Randy into a sitting position, but he seemed to be only half conscious.

"I dunno, maybe a few minutes? Four or something. Should I call the hospital?" Brad mumbled. He was staring at his brother's face, still choking and gasping for air.

"No, but come on, we have to go now" he ordered Brad to his house to grab the keys from his table.

Carefully, he picked up the boy and scrawled a quick note to Jill and Tim.

_Randy asthma attack hospital._

_Wilson_

"I've got the keys,"

"Let's go,"

They hurried out to Wilson's car.

"Brad, there is no back seat so I want you to sit up front with Randy. Just keep him from moving around too much, don't put on a seatbelt either. We don't want to have anything constricting him."

Brad felt like the ride had taken forever and yet suddenly they were at the hospital. In the emergency room. He was vaguely aware of Wilson telling him to stay in the waiting room and that he'd be back in a minute.

Brad sat in a seat near the door with two lines going through his head over and over again.

_It's my fault. I killed Randy._

Momomomomomomomomomomomomomomomiji'sunusedhalo''''''

Greetings! Tis i. Anyway, I hope you liked it, I think I can update pretty soon. I think that Wilson isn't supposed to have a car, but I needed to give him one, so there.

Press the pretty periwinkle button or I kill Jonathan Taylor Thomas!!!!


	2. Chapter 2

**So pretty much, I was sitting on the couch tonight, thinking how I had nothing to do… then I was all like, "crap. I have the rest of a story to write. I'll get on that now…"**

**So here you go: this ain't mine.**

Wilson sighed slowly, calming himself as much as he could. Randy had been administered immediately, and he silently thanked the gods that the hospital hadn't been overflowing with people. Randy couldn't have waited too much longer than he had. Though halfway there in the car, he had been greatly relieved when the middle Taylor boy began to cough. At least that meant he was able to get a bit of air, even if it was only a small sporadic amount.

His attention was turned back to the half filled out paper in front of him when the woman behind the desk made a wonderfully rude, "A-hem" sound. That's right, he was supposed to be signing Randy William Taylor in. People were bustling around him, totally unaware that there was a young boy gasping for breath only a few doors down the hall. But as the paused to think for a moment, there were probably hundreds of children, even younger than Randy dying all over the world. Why should anyone care more about this one than the others?

Because Randy was sweet, a good kid, and most importantly, Wilson loved him like his own. He would do anything for the Taylors.

He felt bad about leaving Brad in the waiting room, but he was not allowed to go in with his brother. The man took another long breath in and tried not to take such a small thing for granted.

* * *

Brad was staring desperately at the clock across the room. It seemed to be moving much too slowly, and yet if he took his eyes off of it, great chunks of time flew by. His heart was thumping abnormally loud and the feeling was making him slightly sick. How long had it really been since they were just running around, playing without a care in the world?

He turned his head slowly to the right and was surprised to see his neighbor at the front desk, filling out forms. Hadn't they let him stay with his little brother? Did that mean that Randy was back there all alone? The thought make him even more nauseous. And deep down in the pit of his stomach was bubbling guilt.

His thoughts were scattered, detached. His parents wouldn't even be home for another hour, what if they got really scared by the messy note they had left? What if Randy wasn't okay by the time they arrived at the hospital? Even worse, what if they were so rushed to get here, they were in an accident? "_What if?"_ Was suddenly his least favorite phrase.

He was barely aware of Wilson's comforting hand settling on his shoulder.

* * *

"Wilson Wilson and Bradley Taylor?" The abrupt voice called Brad out of his reverie.

They stood as a middle-aged woman approached them. Her sandy blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she had a small smile upon her face as she came closer to who she believed were Randy's relatives.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Bloomer, are you Randy's family?" she shook hands with Wilson and smiled at Brad, taking in his stricken face and fidgety hands.

"Well, I am Randy's neighbor and this is his older brother. You see, their parents were not at home when the attack began, so Brad came to me for aid," Wilson explained, resuming his hand's position on Brad's shoulder.

"Ah, that was very smart of you Brad, I'm sure your brother thanks you for what you did," She replied, thinking that this would cheer up the boy. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect, but he wouldn't let her know that. "Randy is going to be fine, the attack wasn't particularly strong. He should have some bed rest and not very much physical strain for a while but there will be no lasting affects. Would you like to see him?" Dr. Bloomer directed the last part at Brad.

He nodded once or twice, his head whirling with the good news, yet his gut churning with anxiousness. The dreaded phrase returning. What if Randy was mad? What if he didn't want to see Brad? He couldn't live with himself if his own brother hated him…

* * *

He walked in the room and stopped immediately. Randy was lying limply on the large hospital bed, sheets pulled up to his chest. The nurses had propped him up almost into a sitting position with large, white pillows to help him breathe easier. His face was regaining color but still had an odd pastiness to it.

Randy's eyes were closed and it struck him how young his brother looked. Sure, Randy was a lot smaller than he was, but he just looked so _little_. The sight caused an odd little sound to escape his throat.

His brother's eyes snapped open, and his wheezy breathing hitched for the briefest moment. Brad took a small step towards the bed, waiting for any sign of protest. Randy was just staring at him with wide eyes, his face only portraying a slight curiousness. Taking this as a good thing, Brad closed the distance to the bed. He opened his mouth, but found it dry. The room was suddenly too warm and he found it impossible to meet his brother's gaze. He dropped his eyes to the sheets and shut his mouth.

The tension mounted the longer he stared at that one spot on the bed, the thought fluttered through his mind _if I stare at it long enough, can I burn a hole in it?_ He didn't know what to say to Randy. He had landed his brother in the hospital and it was definitely his fault. What can you say to that? _I'm sorry? I didn't mean it?_ Worthless.

Randy chose to break the silence; he reached out and tugged playfully at Brad's shirt. He looked up surprised to see a tiny smile at his little brother's lips. Their eyes met and Randy's smile grew.

"Hey Brad," He said, his voice quiet and scratchy. "Thanks for playing with me,"

With five words, he knew he had been forgiven. One tear of relief fell and splashed wetly on Randy's hand.

"Gross, I'm telling Dad you cried on me,"

**momomomomomomomomomomomoiji'sunusedhalo!!**

**I hope you guys liked it! I feel better now that I know I completed a story. I know it's only a twoshot, but I planned it that way. I thank you all sooo much for the wonderful reviews! I even got a private message from one awesome person yelling for me to finish it! I cannot tell you how much that meant to me!**

**See ya!**

**Extra thanks to these guys cause they wrote more than just UPDATE!**

chelsXXchels

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JayJay3493

Mrs. William P. Moseley

StoryTagger

Mischieftheblackwolf

Elisa Nataly

**Hey **Blondie**! Thanks for the asthma tip!**

**Hey **Numbah 1HPfan, **please don't ever ask me that again, you made me die a little on the inside. Not really. I just love ya. Thanks!**


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